


Get Me Golden

by fadedhues



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, i'm going to cry they're so precious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedhues/pseuds/fadedhues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica spends her time looking over the menu, carefully analyzing every use of sauce and side and vegetable on there. “What?” she asks, playfully indignant, “If this were to be my last meal, I would hate for it to suck.”</p><p>Boyd’s laugh catches in his throat. Death is never something to play with, not when you’re a teenage werewolf playing with fire (said fire is a metaphor for being in love with someone who is impossible and snarky and just as doomed as you).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Me Golden

**Author's Note:**

> Fucking Teen Wolf, I s2g. This is me, holding Boyd and Erica in my arms, rocking them side to side. Ain't nobody messing with my babies. 
> 
> I have a writing [tumblr](http://drabbledreams.tumblr.com/) and a [tumblr](http://fadedhues.tumblr.com/) where I cry over TW and Inception and mythology and what have you.
> 
> Unbeta'd; thanks for reading!!

“There’s a nice diner down by the new bookshop,” Erica says. “We should go.” Her grin is simultaneously feral and seductive, her new red lipstick-ed trademark, and Boyd cocks an eyebrow at her. The grin sinks into a genuine smile, eyes softening and cheeks flushing, just a little.  

“How’s six?” he asks, voice maybe a little deeper than usual. Erica has that effect on him: makes him want to be stronger and _better_ for her, the best that he can be.

He doesn’t know if it’s a werewolf instinct thing or a head-over-heels-for-Erica thing, but it’s not like it makes a difference to him.

Her eyes flick downward before meeting his full force; Boyd thinks his heart stutters. “Sounds fantastic. I’ll pick you up.” She winks at him and he tosses a fry at her. She catches it and takes a bite, purposefully looking overly-seductive—she shakes her hair out and _growls_ , grinning, and he stifles a barking laugh.

It might scare the other people in the lunchroom, hearing Boyd laugh. He didn’t do it too much, not before Erica became his best and only friend.

Erica laughs, something akin to a giggle (but not quite), and throws a, “See you later, sugar,” over her shoulder.

Boyd feels a little disoriented for a minute, but that’s just what Erica does to him.

\--

“First date jitters?” His mom smirks knowingly, brushing probably-imaginary lint off his shoulders.

Boyd rolls his eyes in response. “Ma,” he groans, and his mom throws her hands up in the universal _alright-my-bad-just-trying-to-help_ gesture.

“You _should_ be nervous,” she says, “that girl is dangerous.” She’s teasing, a glint in her eyes, but Boyd knows what his mom means. Erica’s dangerous because it’s like she’s his world, his sun (or maybe, he thinks dryly, his moon). He’s got his family and Erica; even with Derek running through his veins, he doesn’t have Derek (no one has Derek, not really).

Boyd’s family has known Erica for ages. They were quite taken with her when she first came over.

Boyd thinks her mom likes Erica so much because there’s a part of Erica she keeps hidden, a soft and kind creature that she only lets out when she feels safe, and that part reminds his mother of his sister a little.

Boyd wonders if his sister would have been as taken with Erica.

He shakes the thought out of his head like shaking water out of his ears.

The doorbell rings, and he runs to get it, yelling, “Bye, Ma!” on his way. He slams the door shut and finds a grinning Erica, wearing a simple red tank top and a pair of dark jeans. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, cascading down her back, a few strands pooling around her neck. He’s not surprised by the red lipstick—it’s not an essential part of her or anything, but she loves it, and by default, so does he.

Erica grabs his hand and twines their fingers together. “Hey,” she says easily, like she isn’t knocking the wind out of him.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and smiles. “Hey,” he returns, and it _is_ easy.

They walk down the sidewalk, sun still high in the April sky. Erica tells him about her _stupidly difficult_ chemistry project, and Boyd returns that _maybe if you would actually take legible notes, you would be able to use them for important things like this_. Her laugh echoes around them, cradled by the spring air.

(She turns him into a little bit of a poet, he thinks.)

The diner is nice. The booths are red and bouncy, and the waitress has to lower the blinds down so they can see each other without having to use the menus as shade.

Erica spends her time looking over the menu, carefully analyzing every use of sauce and side and vegetable on there. “What?” she asks, playfully indignant, “If this were to be my last meal, I would hate for it to suck.”

Boyd’s laugh catches in his throat. Death is never something to play with, not when you’re a teenage werewolf playing with fire (said fire is a metaphor for being in love with someone who is impossible and snarky and just as doomed as you).

Erica senses it (again, he’s not sure if it’s a werewolf thing or because they’re so attuned to each other) and grabs one of his hands. She keeps a hold on it as the topic changes quickly and they order food, holds onto it until she has to let go to eat her burger.

“Holy crap,” she moans around her full mouth, ketchup collecting on the side of her lips, clashing with the different shade of red of her lipstick. She licks the mayonnaise off the side of her thumb, and man, she’s a sight to see. “Boyd,” she swallows the bite, “this is the burger of all burgers. It’s The Burger, capital _T_ , capital _B_. Try this.” She holds it in front of him and he leans forward, holding his own club sandwich in his hands.

She’s right, it is The Burger.

Her eyes light up at the appreciative noise he makes. “Right?” she crows, bringing the burger back to her mouth for another bite.

She leans one of her legs against his and takes a sip of her water. There’s a strawberry milkshake sitting in the middle of the table; they had decided to just split a large shake (cheaper that way). Erica takes a sip of it, leaving her lipstick stain on it (Boyd almost thinks of it like a serial killer leaves his/her mark—Erica leaves her mark anywhere she can, on people and places and ordinary objects. It means she was there, she was alive—she’s a hurricane, tearing through Beacon Hills, one smile at a time). The mark on the straw captures his attention, and he’s quick to take a sip of the milkshake, to close his lips over the place hers had just done the same.

 When she places her lips on his later, gentle and unhurried, he feels like his chest could burst open, like his world is spinning.

(Hurricane Erica, he calls her from then on, and it always grants him a dizzying kiss.)


End file.
